The security guard said ‘No photography’  and yet the fishermen smiled when I pointed my camera towards them.  I was initially intimated, but began to relax as they were unloading their catch and preparing it for shipping to the markets.  The markets were a sensory challenge.  Overwhelmed by the smell, something I’m told you get used to with time, I watched as the fish were cleaned and gutted with the precision of a skilled assassin.  

 

On my return I spent a day with one of the fishermen who trawls the backwaters of Goa.  The boat, made out of a single tree, was remarkably stable, although I was still glad that the waters were calm.  We moved along the mangroves in the hopes that we would happen upon some mud crabs.  We were unlucky that day and returned empty handed. 

 

Whether it is large or small scale fishing, working on trawlers that travel the Arabian seas or simply a dug out in the backwaters of the state, Goa is defined by its fishermen.  As the tourists eat the catch, few understand the enormous engine that drives this industry.